


Naamah and the Princess

by kmo



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Arranged Relationship, F/F, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Story within a Story, Worldbuilding, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her education as Dauphine, Sidonie had mastered every lesson save one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naamah and the Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/gifts).



_Lundi_ and _Mercredi_ mornings, Sidonie studied D’Angeline history, military strategy, and Eluine theology with her tutors. Afternoons, she attended court, learning the art of statecraft at her mother’s hand.

 _Mardi_ and _Jeudi_ were spent in the company of her riding or dancing master, depending on the particularities of the weather. Before dinner, she often read alone or played with Alais in the palace gardens.

 _Vendredi_ was given over to the study of foreign tongues before lunch and mathematics and natural sciences after. Though Sidonie could not match the linguistic skills of the Comtesse de Montrève (who seemingly could master a language as abstruse as Jeb’ez in but a matter of weeks), by fifteen she could converse fluently in Caerdicci, Cruithne, Hellene, and Aragonian, and knew the rudiments of Akkadian and Skaldic.

The end of the week was devoted to various fetes, balls, and state dinners where the royal family would be expected to put in an appearance. On rare summer days when her father was in residence, they would journey to the royal retreat in Naamare. Quiet moments together with just the four of them were rarer than diamonds.

And so the weeks of Sidonie’s girlhood passed in lockstep precision. Every lesson attended to save one.

 

*****

One bitter _vendredi_ , Sidonie, dressed in her warmest gown and slippers, opened the door to the notoriously drafty salon where she took her lessons. Inside, she found not her mathematics tutor, but her mother thronged by Phèdre nó Deluanay and two flame-haired women in Naamah’s bright robes. The elder she recognized as Bérèngere, the head of Naamah’s Order. The younger could only have been the priestess’ daughter, so closely did the two resemble one another.

“Mother, where is Maîtresse Labouré?” Sidonie asked.

Her mother smiled tightly and gestured for her to sit. “I have cancelled your lessons with Maîtresse Labouré indefinitely and decided she shall commence with Alais instead.”

Sidonie grew puzzled. “Has my progress been aught than satisfactory?”

“Quite the opposite. But unless you are planning to enter Shemhazai’s Order, it is my belief that your time could be better spent,” Ysandre spoke quickly, twisting the jeweled rings on her fingers, a nervous gesture Sidonie had never known her mother to display before the royal court.

The Comtesse de Montrève turned her strange dark eyes upon her and said warmly, “Your mother and I feel there should be more to a Dauphine’s education than sums, and tongues, and reams of D’Angeline history.”

And so Phèdre nó Delaunay ever-so charmingly laid out the plan by which Amarante, the priestess’ daughter, would act as her friend and companion. Sidonie sat still as a statue as Phèdre, her mother, and the priestess extolled the myriad benefits of such an arrangement, felt herself grow alternately cold with horror and hot with indignation as she listened to their scheme. For it was apparently their intention that Amarante tutor her in the ways of Naamah as surely as Maîtresse Labouré had tutored her in the proofs of Pythagoras and Euclid.

At the end of their discussion, the room grew so tense and silent, Sidonie could have sworn she could hear the palace mice running through the walls. Finally she asked her mother, “Is this arrangement by your royal command?”

Ysandre stiffened and Sidonie saw that queenly fire come into her mother’s violet eyes. “It would be against Elua’s precept to command you in this matter. Consider it a royal recommendation. And a maternal one.”

Sidonie rose gracefully from the chair and faced her audience. “I thank you all for your wise counsel. I wish to speak to my mother alone, if I may.”

Phèdre inclined her dark head, “Of course, my princess.” Bérèngere smiled gently and followed the comtesse out of the room.

Amarante curtseyed before her. “I look forward to making your acquaintance, your Highness.” When she rose, Sidonie defiantly met her cool green eyes, and was shocked by the frisson of attraction she felt pass between them.

When the party had left, Sidonie crossed to the windows, and rested her forehead on the cool, frosted glass. The schoolroom, normally so drafty, had become curiously overheated.

“Sidonie,” her mother said pleadingly, “you must believe I only want what is best for you.”

Sidonie was silent for a very long time. When she finally spoke her words had all the edge and the warmth of an icicle. “Is it that you think I am so pathetic I cannot select my own friends and lovers without assistance? Or are you so accustomed to absolute power that you cannot allow me the freedom to do so?” It was the first time she had ever spoken to her mother in anger. It would not be the last.

Ysandre sank on the overstuffed divan and let out a most unqueenly sigh. “Come here, daughter, and let try to me explain better.”

Sidonie reluctantly went to her mother’s side. Her mother grasped her hands imploringly, eyes uncharacteristically glassy. “Sidonie, you must give this a chance, you _must_. Your childhood has been a lonely one, I know. It is going to get worse. The game of courtship has already begun, and there are many, so very many, who would use your heart as nothing more than a playing piece to further their own ambitions. I will not send you out there alone…untutored…unarmed…as I was.”

Sidonie felt her eyes moisten, too. “You think me naïve.”

Her mother shook her head. “No, my darling girl, no, you misunderstand me. I just want _more_ for you, more than I had. Your great-grandfather denied me the Night Court. What I know of Naamah’s ways, your father and I learned together.”

It was not uncommon, Sidonie knew, for parents and children in Terre d’Ange to speak openly of matters of love and passion. Though this was the first time her reserved mother had done so. “Do you regret it?” she found herself asking.    

Ysandre smiled wistfully and said, "I love your father very much. And youth's untutored ardor can overcome any number of flaws. But for you, my daughter, there should be more. For the habits we form in youth can be hard to break.”

Sidonie nodded, solemn at her mother’s unspoken confession.  “I will do as you suggest.”

She felt her mother’s hand combing through her long locks, hugging her close as if she was but a little girl again, and not heir in waiting to her mother’s kingdom. Though even then in earliest childhood, Sidonie had never been truly carefree, had always been both daughter and Dauphine, girl and heir. She rested her head on Ysandre’s brocade-covered shoulder, closed her eyes, and tried to imagine for a moment that matters of Naamah were merely affairs of the heart and not affairs of state.

Sidonie tried to imagine this and failed. Alais with her dreamer's gift might have managed it, but not she.

 

*****

 

When Sidonie returned to her chambers after dinner that day, she found Amarante had moved into the adjoining room that had once belonged to Yvette, her lady’s maid. Sidonie tried not to let her annoyance register as she quipped, “First you displace my mathematics tutor, now Yvette. Should I inform my dancing master that you will be taking on his duties as well?

Amarante ignored the barb and said calmly, “Yvette will still care for your clothes and dress your hair. She is but a few doors down the hall. It was thought this arrangement of rooms would be more convenient.”

 _Arrangement. Convenience._ Sidonie nearly snorted at such euphemisms, only to remember that princesses of House Courcel did not snort.

“I know this plan was not of your choosing. If I am distasteful to you…if we are incompatible in any way, I will be the first to say we should call this experiment a failure. But, it is my hope we will be friends.”Amarante stepped closer and looked at her seriously. Sidonie felt herself tense, though her new companion made no move to touch her. Amarante was undoubtedly beautiful, as many D'Angelines were, with her tall, statuesque figure and wealth of rounded curves. But there was more to it than that. A kind of heat that radiated from her, from the roots of her dark red hair, to the hem of her sacred robe. It pulled at something within Sidonie, and she felt herself being drawn closer, tempted by Amarante’s warmth.

She wrenched herself away, frightened by the way her own blood quickened in response to Amarante's presence. _Naamah's blood_ , a voice reminded her. 

“I’m going to bed. Good night,” she told her decisively, slipping behind the damask-flocked door to her bedchamber before she could change her mind. Sidonie swiftly locked the door behind her- whether to keep Amarante out or herself in, she didn’t know.

*****

The week passed quickly, Amarante falling into step behind her as Sidonie went through the normal rotation of lessons, court, balls, dress fittings, and dinners, a sensuous shadow. Every day, Sidonie felt her body betray her normally icy demeanor, blushing hotly when their fingertips brushed as Amarante passed the marmalade at breakfast or handed her a scroll during court. Every night, Sidonie tossed and turned in her bed alone, curiously tempted by what could happen were she to unlatch the door between them. All too soon, _vendredi_ was upon Sidonie again, with its hour allocated to Naamah.

On the way back from luncheon, Sidonie turned to Amarante and said, “I suppose we should return to my bedchamber. Unless we are to conduct this lesson in the schoolroom?”

A sly smile ghosted across Amarante’s face. “One day, perhaps. But such a lesson would not be for a beginner."

Sidonie perched upon her bed as Amarante closed the door and instructed the guards that they were not to be disturbed. The clock on the mantel struck the hour. “So, how does one learn the arts of Naamah? Do we simply check off the _Trois Milles Joies_ one by one until I have mastered them all?”

Amarante shrugged and drew the curtains until naught but a weak sliver of sunlight shone through. “Some may do it that way, my princess. I thought we might start with a story.” She sat down beside a polished wooden harp, a gift from Grainne of the Dalriada. “May I?” she asked.

“Be my guest. I haven’t played it in a long while.” Sidonie played well enough to be considered “accomplished,” but had not Alais’ talent or passion for music.

Amarante trembled the strings, plucking them lightly and adjusting the pegs. She strummed the harp, letting forth a soft waterfall of sound. For a moment, Sidonie imagined Amarante's soft hands playing upon her, her body nestled between Amarante's legs and arms. Amarante paused and asked, “Do you know the story of Naamah and the Princess?” 

“I’ve not heard that one.” Tales and stories were also Alais' domain.

Amarante smiled, revealing a small dimple in her left cheek. “You’ll not find it in any of your history books, I think.”

Sidonie reclined against the pillows, relieved and somewhat disappointed that the first of her lessons was to be naught but a story. “Go on.”Amarante ran her hands along the harp’s strings lovingly, filling the room with peeling magical notes. Sidonie closed her eyes, and let the fairy-like music and Amarante's husky voice transport her to a time long ago and not-so far away.

*****

_Many centuries ago, not long after Blessed Elua and his companions came to this land, they happened upon a king who had not yet heard of Elua’s new gospel. When the king’s people told him of the beauty of Elua, and the magical gifts he and his companions had shared with mortals, he threw open his banquet hall and welcomed them inside, hoping to gain Elua’s favor. For the foolish king thought that Elua’s treasure was silver and gold, not the treasure of the heart._

_Elua and his followers were tired and hungry, for they had traveled very far. They were happy to sit by the king’s hearth, hoping in time he would open his mind and heart to Elua’s teachings._

_But as they sat in the hall eating the king’s soup and bread, they were surprised to discover that their host believed he suffered under a great curse. A wise woman had prophesied that one day he would lose his beloved only daughter. She would run away from him, and he would die alone in his cold and empty hall. When the king heard the wise woman’s words he had his daughter locked away in a tower in the woods, with none but her wizened old nursemaid for company. The king alone had the only key to the tower. He would let no suitors court her, though she was well beyond marriageable age. Nor even her own kinfolk visit her, for fear they would spirit her away._

_Such words and deeds did not sit well with Blessed Elua. Neither did they with Naamah._

_Late at night, long after all were asleep, Naamah slipped outside the keep’s walls. She unfurled her golden wings and rose high above the treetops until she spotted the roof of princess’ tower shining in the moonlight. She stole inside through the tower’s lone window and alighted near the princess' bed._

_She kissed the princess on the forehead and awakened her. “Who are you?” the girl asked._

_"A friend." Naamah smiled. "I heard you crying in your loneliness. I have come to be your companion.” And truthfully, Naamah had not heard her cries, but she could see within the girl’s heart that she had been alone and friendless, and ignorant of her body and its desires. And this went against all that Naamah held most dear._

_Naamah unfurled her golden wings and the princess beheld her in all her radiant glory. She felt herself overcome with a desire that was undeniable. Naamah embraced her, and brought the girl to rest in her bosom in the shelter of her soft wings. The next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, Naamah taught her of love and desire, and gave the girl all the pleasures her father had forbidden her. After so many years alone, Naamah's love seemed to the princess like water to a traveler stranded in the desert._

_On the third day, the girl turned to Naamah, afraid. “Tomorrow my father will come. He will be angry if you are here.”_

_“I will return to my companions.”_

_The princess wept. “I do not wish to be parted from you. Ever.” For though she had known Naamah no longer than three days and three nights, her heart was already Naamah's completely. For it was said that those mortals who laid with Naamah loved her instantly and forever._

_Naamah spread her bright wings again. “Then do not be parted from me.” The girl rushed into Naamah’s arms and they flew away from the tower together. The king came to the tower the next morning to find his daughter gone. 'Twas his own jealousy and cruelty that made the prophecy come true in the end. His daughter had abandoned him, given up all she had, fine gowns and jewels, to go and follow Naamah._

_*****_

 "And in Naamah’s Order, they say that princess was Naamah’s first priestess,” Amarante finished with a flourish.

Sidonie turned her face away, eyes wet with tears. “You made up that story for me.”

Amarante set down the harp and sat beside her on the bed. “I did not. It was told to me when I first entered Naamah's Temple.”

The story had unloosened something in Sidonie, and she felt herself beginning to melt and to trust the woman who had told it. “I am sorry I have been…uncooperative."

Amarante nodded solemnly and took Sidonie's hands in hers. "Princess, I swear to you, my vow is to Naamah first and you second. By serving you, I serve Naamah. I have no golden wings to spirit you away from this court and its worries, but my arms will always be open to you whenever you want them."

"I have doubts about this...but I also I _want..."_

"Yes?"

"You." Sidonie finished with a shy smile. 

Amarante chuckled, but there was no malice in it, only a confident kindness. "I know."

"Where do we begin?”

Amarante’s fine hand gently wiped away Sidonie’s tears. Her soft, plush lips rained kisses down on Sidonie’s tear-streaked face, the first of the _Trois Milles Joies_. “At the beginning.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I couldn't manage a post- _Mercy_ fic about Sidonie recovering from Astegal, but I hope you'll accept some Sidonie/Amarante with a side of Sidonie-Ysandre bonding instead. I love Sidonie, too, and I wish she had more fic written about her. 
> 
> Also, I don't think Carey ever gave us names of the days and months used in the Kushielverse, so I decided to just go with the names of the days _en francais_.


End file.
